Salted Caramel
by hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: Cake and friends and a walk through London leads to an odd request from the most infuriatingly loveable man Molly has ever met. But since when has our favourite pathologist ever been able to refuse Sherlock Holmes anything? (Hint, the answer is never). Set directly after TLD, spoilers for that episode and season 4 generally. Angsty but hopeful.


_Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine. Takes place directly after the end of "The Lying Detective," and contains spoilers for that episode and season 4 in general._

* * *

 **SALTED CARAMEL**

* * *

It takes forever to get Rosie and Sherlock- both crumb-covered and sugar-hyped- out of _Emmaline's._

In fact, it takes so long that the titular Emmaline effectively bribes the birthday boy with a whole left-over salted caramel torte in order to get him to leave.

The gleeful look on his face when she hands it over tells Molly that such behaviour will merely encourage him in the future- Something which the older woman seems to understand too, to her dismay and John's amusement.

Nevertheless , Sherlock looks so happy as they step out into the London evening that Molly can't bring herself to be cross.

Grinning smugly with his success he sets staunchly out into the night, Molly at his side whilst John lags behind and tends to a now cranky and tired Rosamund.

* * *

They meander through the early evening streets, making their way towards the Embankment; previous experience tells Molly that whilst John can soothe _his_ cranky infant into calmness by holding her close to his chest and cooing at her, any similar attempts on hers would result in Sherlock going into full buffering-mode and The British Government arresting her for taking liberties. _Either that or the Dread Mummy Holmes demanding she explain what intentions Molly has towards her son._ Hyped as he is, however, he's not going to settle for hours unless she comes up with some sort of distraction and, knowing his ego as she does, she sets on an excellent one.

She asks him to tell her about the city about them (London being his one true love, as far as she can tell).

With a bounce to his step and a whirl of his coat he elects to do just that.

They weave through the crowds, never outstripping John but never leaving him behind either, and as they walk he regales her with stories and adventures. He tells her of princes in towers and knights at their stations. He talks of kings and queens and con-men and grifters, of cunning ladies and determined young men. He recalls the night he and John managed to stop three Russian acrobats disguised as giant teddy bears from making off with the Queen's favourite carriage, the morning they managed to stop an armed robbery using only Sherlock's talent for disguise and a couple of pieces of twine. He grins, getting into his story now and recalling how he and Mary managed to persuade an entire river-tour full of tourists that they were American secret service agents while John commandeered the steering wheel-

At the mention of Mary's name however, he stills. Comes nearly to a halt.

His eyes go to John and then to Rosie, the look of pain in them something which makes Molly's chest hurt.

John sees the look, must read it. Through that weird Vulcan Mind-Meld thing they do he knows to leave it; without a word he crosses the road smartly, pointing at the glittering lights of the city and cooing to Rosie. Rocking her.

Sherlock's gaze slides back to Molly and there's such sadness in their depths.

"It's ok to miss her," she says, because saying anything else would be asinine and she knows it.

His eyes flicker up to hers and a small, sad little smile crooks his lip.

"It is what it is," he says quietly, and in that moment all the joy of the day seems to leach out of him. His shoulders slump. Those quicksilver eyes of his turn inward. Suddenly she can see every inch of damage he did to himself, in his pursuit of saving John Watson and it makes her feel torn between being furious and being completely broken-hearted.

She doubts he can afford either, right now- Any more than she can.

"Hey," she says softly instead, bringing him to a halt. "Hey, it's alright...I'm here…" She balks, knowing how that sounds. He's never wanted her here, not like that, he's made it very clear-

To her shock however he sighs. Reaches out and takes her hands in his.

He looks up at her and there's something else in his eyes now. Something bright- Something beautiful.

She realises with a start that it's hope and despite herself she smiles.

He must read her reasoning because his grip on her hands tighten and this time when he smiles it touches his eyes. Wrinkles his brows and cheeks, makes them soften so that he almost looks boyish.

Just for a moment he's back to being the man she knew once more and oh but she likes the thought of that.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "I don't- I never mean to worry you, Molly, and yet somehow I always do. Today… Last week in the ambulance… last Christmas at the drugs' test... "

And he lets her hands go, turns from her. For a moment his eyes are closed and his is looking inwards, searching for faults, she thinks, or trying to find words when he hasn't the words to say. And then he opens his eyes, throws her this lovely, self-deprecating smile over his shoulder and just like that, as she always does, she finds herself halfway back in love with him.

She hasn't the heart to begrudge him it, either.

Slowly, carefully, almost like she's dealing with a nervous animal that might spook and run, Molly walks back over to him. Keeping her eyes on him- showing him that she's watching for his reaction- she carefully hooks her arm into his. Steps in closer to his side. He frowns for a moment, nonplussed perhaps by the action, but then he must decide it's alright for he nods to himself. Begins walking. He whistles jokingly at John- "here boy!"- to which his friend flips him the finger and calls him a cock.

"That's going to be Rosie's first word, you know," he tells him.

"The way you're going, it will be," John shoots back.

They meander home, slower and less manic than they had been before. This time the talk is softer. Gentler. He speaks of how he's feeling, promises her he'll eat something. He also promises her that the next time she comes to Baker Street he'll let her choose the takeaway for a change. When they get to Molly's flat Sherlock walks her up her steps, leaving John loitering on the corner; As they get to her front door he stops. Shifts from foot to foot. He almost looks nervous.

"Can you do something for me, Molly?" he asks hesitantly. "As a- As a birthday present?"

She crosses her arms, already gearing up for a refusal. "I don't care what day it is, Sherlock, I'm not getting you another human head- Human Resources are still a little miffed about the last one…"

He chuckles and shakes his head. Steps closer to her. He shifts them so that his back's to John and, given how small she is, Molly is entirely hidden by him.

"Tonight, after you get inside," he says. "Could you… Could you make a recording of yourself?"

She frowns, confused- And immediately suspicious. "Doing what?"

"Doing anything." His shifts nervously from foot to foot again. "I mean, it can be anything but, but I'd really like… I'd really like it if you could record yourself saying my name." He clears his throat. "Either that or laughing."

"Why?" Molly immediately narrows her eyes, expecting subterfuge or nefarious scheming, but his answer surprises her.

"Because you have a nice voice," he says. "And you have a nice laugh. There's a- I have an old text sound for my phone- I'm thinking of deleting it. And, and I'd like to replace it with your voice, if that would be… amenable?"

He shrugs, looks nervous. "Or not… Of course I can understand how it sounds…"

"I'll send it to you as an mp3 by tomorrow."

She says the words quickly, not giving herself a chance to chicken out. And then she turns and hurriedly opens her front door, makes to move inside.

At the last moment Sherock stops her. Hands her his ill-gotten salted caramel torte from _Emmaline's._

"Did you think I didn't know it was your favourite?" he asks wryly. "You always seem to want sweet and sharp together, don't you?"

And then he's gone, jogging up to John and Rosie and leaving Molly with a armful of premium dessert and many, many questions.

She does as he asks though, and every time she sees John for weeks after he looks at her and smiles.


End file.
